


woven in my soul

by Bright_Elen, misskatieleigh



Series: save that light [1]
Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016)
Genre: Accidental Emotional Manipulation, Angst, Backstory, Child Abandonment, Emotional Manipulation, Force-sensitive Cassian, Gen, POV Cassian Andor, Parent Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-19
Updated: 2017-09-19
Packaged: 2018-12-31 12:37:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,722
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12132657
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bright_Elen/pseuds/Bright_Elen, https://archiveofourown.org/users/misskatieleigh/pseuds/misskatieleigh
Summary: Cassian realized that he was different when he was four years old. He looked up at his father, his whole world up until then, and said, “Why are they going to make the factory explode, Papá?”His father turned to him then, eyes still on the datapad in his hands, and said, “Who’s blowing things up? Don’t be silly.”Cassian kept playing with his toys, making the star ships crash into each other absently. “The men who are all the same under their armor.”His father swiped to a different article. “I’ve told you before not to sneak out of bed to watch the news holos, Cassian.”It was only when they heard the noise echo off the mountains that his father looked up. Slowly, he turned and looked at Cassian.For the first time that Cassian could remember, Papá was afraid.





	woven in my soul

Cassian realized that he was different when he was four years old. That was when the phrik factory at the edge of the city blew up.

It was evening, that time between dinner and bed where the city seemed to settle into itself, the hustle of the day falling away. Cassian loved that part of the day, Papá at the table with his datapad, the dishes resting on the rack waiting for morning. Just the two of them, quiet and together.

He sat on the floor, his toys spread out around him in a careful array. They were a gift from his grandfather before he died, and they were Cassian's most treasured possession besides the afghan his mother had knit for him. Papá only let him have that on especially cold nights though, when there wasn't enough money for heating fuel. He would say that Mamá was wrapping him in her arms, keeping him warm like mothers should. Cassian thought that was silly, but it made Papá happy, so he always smiled and whispered thank you to Mamá in the afghan. He couldn’t picture her, didn't even know what she had looked like since his father hadn't kept any holos after she died. Cassian had been her last gift to the world, but Papá loved him well enough for two.

Cassian looked up at his father, his whole world up until then, and said, “Why are they going to make it explode, Papá?”

His father turned to him then, eyes still on the datapad in his hands, and said, “Who’s blowing things up? Don’t be silly.”

Cassian kept playing with his toys, making the starships crash into each other absently. “The men who are the same under their armor.”

His father swiped to a different article. “I’ve told you before not to sneak out of bed to watch the news holos, Cassian.”

It was only when they heard the noise echo off the mountains that his father looked up. Slowly, he turned and looked at Cassian.

For the first time that Cassian could remember, Papá was afraid.

Cassian felt cold. He wondered if it was one of those nights when Papá would take out the afghan and sing him to sleep.

Papá only sighed and sent him to bed, his hands shaking as he picked his datapad back up. He felt wrong, but Cassian knew better than to argue about bedtime.

In the morning, they picked their way through the streets and looked at the smoking black hole in the side of the factory. Cassian's friend Bembe was there with his mother, hand clenched tightly in hers. Papá took her other hand and gave a friendly squeeze, pulling them away from the building.

“Come. Let's get some food in these boys and then we'll find somewhere new for you to work.”

She sniffed, looking at the building one last time before squaring her shoulders, a hesitant smile twitching across her face. Papá was good at that; putting people at ease. Giving them something to hope for.

Cassian reached out for Bembe’s hand, wrinkling his nose at the sticky palm he was met with. He shrugged off the creepy feeling that slid up his arm when they touched and followed his father down the street.

Someday, he could be like Papá. He knew he could.

* * *

_“Never trust a Force-user. They’re all liars.”_

* * *

Cassian was six when his father died. He had been left with his aunt while his father had gone to protest against the Republic at Carida. Seeing Papá’s face flash up on the holonet was exciting at first, until Tía started wailing. He tried to read the words, but they were in Basic, and they scrolled by too fast for his mind to translate. Tío Ingo (really his father’s cousin) tried to comfort him, saying, “It was a good death.He was fighting for what he believed in.”

It was hard for Cassian to wrap his mind around Papá fighting. Papá was quiet and calm, even when there weren't enough credits for food. He was good with words, not weapons. He protected Cassian, shielded him from the men in white armor trying to bring order to the streets. (Cassian liked it better before they came, when the world was messy and loud, familiar and wonderful. Now everyone felt like strung wire.)

Cassian sat down on the floor, the news broadcast cycling back to the beginning. Questions overwhelmed him, swirling around his brain to peck apart his carefully ordered world Who would protect him now? Why had Papá gone to fight and left him in this barely-familiar house with Tía? He missed their little apartment, the noise outside the window and the smell of bread baking in the café downstairs. The galaxy was suddenly so much bigger, and he could feel all of it, pressing down on his shoulders. Trying to crush him.

Anxiety and fear like a dull ache in the pit of his stomach. The feel of something ripping open from his aunt, her only brother lost. His grandmother sobbing into her tea, confused and afraid, calling him Jeron and petting his hair. Her heart breaking over and over as someone reminded her who had died.

Cassian cried, of course, his own pain bigger than his chest could contain, but soon even that was dragged down and crushed under the weight. He was so familiar with the ebb and flow of his family’s emotions that the sudden change was like a tidal wave knocking him over, drowning him, flooding everything he knew. There was nothing but sorrow and fear. His eyes were open, watching the world tilt as he fell to the floor, seeing his own fingers dig into the thick rug, but it barely registered. Neither did the cacophony of wailing, though he reflexively covered his ears with his hands. That didn’t help, and he couldn’t tell if it was because the sounds weren’t really sounds or if he himself was screaming or if it was both.

It went on for what felt like forever.

Tía Lerona lurched to her knees next to him, grabbed him roughly, and staggered out of the room, out of the house. Without his coat the cold stole his breath, left him gasping and shivering within seconds, his aunt’s hand clamped around his shoulder holding him in place.

A minute passed, his blood and bones turning to ice, the cold driving out any feeling beyond the need to get warm. Just when he thought he’d die out there, his aunt scooped him up in her arms and carried him back inside.

Cassian practically crawled on top of the thermal unit, teeth rattling. Heat returned to his body and grief to his heart, though it was only his own, this time. The creeping dread: _that_ seemed to belong to everyone.

He turned around to face his aunt and grandmother. They’d both been crying, but it wasn’t their sorrow that pierced Cassian’s chest.

He hadn’t meant to get lost in their feelings. He hadn’t meant to drag them into his own. But it was wrong, he knew it was. He wanted more than anything to be able to stop.

He hadn’t meant to, but it didn't matter. In the end, his family couldn’t hide the looks of disgust on their faces.

* * *

_“Manipulators, all of them. And in the end, what did they get? Their own creation turned against them. The Jedi will destroy themselves like the Sith and we'll all be better for it.”_

* * *

No one could stand him for long after that. Tía Lerona tried for the longest, more out of loyalty to her brother than any affection for a nephew whose mind seemed strange and frightening. There wasn't anyone to ask for help, honestly. Fest was, at best, a planet of non-believers, Separatist holdovers. At worst, well... there was a war on. People went missing.

Cassian didn't stand a chance. There were entire weeks when he couldn’t make himself stay in school the whole day. Everyone was on edge, more and more Stormtroopers in the streets each day, the grainy news feeds coming over the holonet attempting to reassure them it was all in their best interest.

Cassian wasn't meant to watch the news, but he had ears and the walls of Lerona’s house were thin.

The biggest challenge was figuring out how to keep everyone else out of his head. Stepping out into the cold helped when Cassian was overwhelmed, but it didn't work to keep him balanced. Not to mention the likelihood of eventually losing fingers and toes to the frost. The time he stayed out long enough to stop shivering, it was probably only the fact that his aunt had a warm bath waiting for him that saved him from permanent damage.

There was a tea that his grandmother drank, when she couldn't remember the year or who the people around her were. It didn't help with her memory, but it made her more...pliable. Easier to coax into bed and away from sharp objects. For Cassian, it made everything hazy, like a fog had settled inside his head making everything indistinct. It was a sort of balance, but not a life. Eventually he learned to wait until Tía was looking the other way, tip it into the potted plant by his seat. It served the plant better than him, though she was a little suspicious that it grew six inches that year.

The episodes - that's what Tía called them - came and went without his control. A fight in the school yard that spread from person to person, a spark catching on dry tinder. A love poem read in class, and the embarrassment of confessed feelings hours later. A triumph in the regional netball competition, pride and euphoria and love for teammates he barely knew. The teachers complained of his influence over the other students, their moods waxing and waning with his temperament. An implication, but never an accusation.

Cassian could feel Lerona’s disappointment growing with every message sent home, the months passing as a cloud of apprehension  hovered over every shared meal. The hollow place in his chest grew until he was held together only by fine threads.

It was only a matter of time before she decided Cassian wasn't worth the effort. That was the excuse he gave himself when he ran away. The fact that no one came after him only proved that he had been right.

It was better, living in the shadows. No one to get close to meant it was easier to stay balanced, easier to build a wall between himself and the world. It was hard, too, finding the corner of an abandoned apartment to sleep in, the best places to get castoff produce, the streets and people to avoid. There were nights Cassian spent awake and terrified, days he thought maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if he let the cold take him.

But he didn’t. Not with the Empire’s boot on Fest’s neck.

There were too many children living like he did, on the streets, and worse, too many of those that disappeared after Imperial raids. Most of them, an older girl with dead eyes told Cassian, were sold for labor. None of them were ever seen again.

Then there were the factory workers, people in a perpetual state of exhaustion, never home, never rested. When one of them died of phrik buildup in their lungs, the factory would hire the next person hungry enough not to care that they’d probably be following their predecessor into the grave in a few months.

It hadn’t always been that way. Cassian could remember that much. And if it used to be different, it could be different again. As long as there was something he could do to protect his people, he couldn’t leave. Not when he could feel their suffering so keenly. So the time he didn’t spend on his own survival he put into becoming better at fighting.

In school, Cassian had shown some small talent with programming. He thought maybe that could be a career someday, designing droids or improving the holonetwork. Before he had run away, there had been a choice. Maybe he still would, someday, but while he was living on the streets, his classroom was the city. He took daily lessons in sneaking up on Stormtroopers, improvising weapons, planting explosives. He read terrain and crowds instead of books and kept fit by running and climbing to escape bad situations. Instead of navigating friendships and crushes and teachers’ favor, he learned who to butter up, whose pity to appeal to, who wanted to feel like they'd beaten him and who valued his silence most.

And all the while, he kept shoring up his walls, learning how to keep his feelings inside himself, learning how to taste people’s emotions without choking on their entire heart. By the time he was twelve years old, he’d saved three lives and cost the Empire hundreds of thousands of credits.

That year he ran into his aunt in a market and it was like none of that had ever happened. He felt eight years old again, the grief and shame as strong as the day he left. For a long moment Cassian couldn’t move or speak.

Tía Lerona had also stopped dead in her tracks. Surprise, relief, and guilt were all flashing across her face, and Cassian braced himself for the impact of them in his chest, the violent reaction between them and his own emotions.

A moment passed. Two. They were both holding their breath.

Another second, and Cassian realized that he could feel his own grief and fear and shame keenly, but his aunt’s emotions were...distant. Present, but faint.

Tía Lerona collected herself and walked past, determined not to speak to him, but Cassian was smiling. After everything, he’d finally learned some control.

* * *

_“They’re strange, those ones. Not quite right. Too wild.”_

* * *

Desperate after his escape route from the spaceport was unexpectedly blocked, Cassian took shelter in an open cargo bay on a light freighter. He ducked down behind some crates, strained his ears as Stormtroopers ran past, then sagged in relief as they kept going.

He almost jumped out of his skin when someone cleared their throat right in front of him. Then he almost jumped again when the voice turned out to belong to a person with a fish head.

“Wow, kid, what did you do to get six of them after you?” they said, and Cassian tried not to stare. He thought he may have heard about this species in school, at some point, but he never thought he’d meet one in person.

“What makes you think they’re after me?” he asked, too late for believability.

The person - maybe a she? Cassian wasn’t sure - snorted. “You don’t wanna talk about it, that’s fine, I can always use some plausible deniability. But I will say that I’m none too fond of Stormtroopers, either. I’m Var Parat. You got a name?”

“Cassian,” he said, mouth clicking shut to keep himself from volunteering anything else. He tried to raise his walls, too; he’d dropped them in his panic and distraction, learning that she was a she, for starters, and that she liked him.

“Well, Cassian, you should probably stick around here for another few minutes. I’d offer to take you home, but you’re less conspicuous than I am.”

Cassian nodded. That made sense.

Var got Cassian talking about the city, which was fine with him. She asked the kinds of questions that most adults didn’t think would be relevant: were blind alleyways frequent? Did the sewers have tunnels or pipes? Which parts of town were actually dangerous and which were just poor? They were strange questions, almost suspicious, and Cassian found himself deliberately trying to read Var.

She was tired, and frustrated, but hopeful now. A lot of that hope was centered on Cassian.

Was she with the Rebellion?

“Okay, kid, that should be long enough. Here,” she said, handing him a whole pack of ration bars. He was glad the noise of the spaceport covered the sound of his stomach rumbling.

Cassian looked at the food, then up at Var. “How long will you be here?”

She shrugged. “That depends. At least another few days.”

“Anything you want me to find out for you?”

Mouth turning up at the side, Var said, “Well, now that you mention it, I’m very curious about when the phrik factory’s security changes shifts.”

Cassian nodded and started hiding the ration bars under his clothes. Var’s stare was heavy on him, and he closed his walls fast when she began to exude worry and guilt.

“You be careful, okay?” she said.

“Haven’t been caught yet,” he said, and left.

After stashing most of the food in his hideout (and the rest in an offsite cache he sometimes used) he made his way to the factory. It was patrolled by Stormtroopers and overseen by an Imperial official; only the workers were local. It occurred to him that Var was maybe planning sabotage, and he paused. He wasn’t going to help her hurt Festan workers.

But then he realized that if he asked, he’d know if she lied. He kept going.

He had two options: wait outside until the guards changed, or find a way inside and try to slice the personnel records. The first was by far less dangerous, but it also meant that if the schedule was different on different days, what he learned might be worthless.

Decision made, Cassian waited until the lunch bell sounded, tried to project an air of confusion, and approached the doors.

It was easier than he’d imagined. The only adult who stopped him believed his story that his brother worked in the factory and that he had to deliver an important message. He stayed out of sight of the others, and it was easy to slip into the overseer’s office without anyone noticing.

The computer system was simple, the security easy to bypass. Cassian stole a datachip from the desk and wrote the schedules to it. There was still room left over so he added both incoming and outgoing shipment information, too.

He was half a mile away before anyone was back from lunch.

Var’s ship was where he’d left it.

“Hey, kid, back so soon?” she said, smiling.

“I have a question,” he said, voice grave.

Var nodded and closed the cargo doors. It took a few moments for Cassian’s eyes to adjust to the dim artificial lighting.

“Your question?” Var prompted. Her face didn’t show her worry, and Cassian wondered if she was just good at hiding her feelings or if worry looked different on a Mon Calamari.

“Will any of the workers get hurt?” he said.

Var’s expression softened, and he felt her surge of affection. “As much as I can help it, no.” She sighed. “I can’t promise they won’t, because the Empire is cruel and sometimes things just go wrong, but the plan keeps the workers safe.”

She wasn’t lying. The knot in Cassian’s shoulders loosened, and he reached into his coat.

“You already got it?” Var said, astonished. She stared at the chip Cassian placed in her hand.

“And the shipments,” he said, proudly.

Var looked at him, her huge eyes wide. “Stay here.”

Cassian stayed. Var left, presumably to check the information. When she came back, she was grinning.

“This is perfect, Cassian! Thank you,” she said, and Cassian had to strengthen his walls to avoid getting consumed by her excitement. “I think this is worth a bit more than some ration bars. I can’t give you credits, but is there something else I can do for you? For your family?”

Cassian deflated. He shook his head. “No family. Just me.”

Var’s euphoria faded. “You’re alone? You live alone?”

Cassian nodded.

Var frowned thoughtfully and Cassian tried not to sink into shame.

“Cassian,” she said at last. “How would you feel about leaving Fest? I can get you a job, but it’s off-planet.”

Trying to evaluate her sincerity when he himself was emotional was a little difficult, but he managed.

“Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, okay.”

* * *

  _“The Force binds all living beings, and like all beings it is neither inherently good nor evil. It is useful, however, in determining which kind of being you are.”_

* * *

 The Rebellion was as disorganized as any of the Separatist cells had been, scattered across the galaxy like spilled grain. (And wasn't that a metaphor; no amount of cleansing the Empire did ever found all the wandering pieces completely.) Still, Cassian found himself sitting across a table from a group of adults that seemed to be in charge of something. It would have made sense if they could have agreed on anything, but even rebellions seemed to come with ingrained bureaucracy.

It meant something that they questioned him directly, listened to what history he was willing to offer. Cassian claimed no family, repeating what he had told Var on Fest and hoping that the skills he had taught himself would be valuable enough in exchange. If he wasn't useful, he had no doubts about receiving a one way ticket to some orphanage tucked away in a dusty corner of space. He was grateful when Var spoke up, another voice in his favor at least.

“Listen, I know it's not how we usually do things, but it took this kid less than an hour to get information that would have taken a week for any other agent to get their hands on. I'm just saying we should consider broadening the scope of our intelligence operatives.” Var sat back and shrugged, as if the answer was neither here nor there for her, the picture of control. Under the table, her leg spasmed twice before she gripped it with her hand, and Cassian felt anxiety rolling off of her in waves. He shifted in his seat, folding his hands in his lap and resisted the urge to tuck his fingers under his knees.

A man spoke up, huffing in indignance. “Is this what the Alliance is willing to do now? Send children out as bait? I thought we were supposed to be trying for something better than the Empire! There has to be a line we aren't willing to cross!”

Cassian bit his lip, trying to lower his walls just enough to read the room. The man that had spoken before was arguing with a woman now, her white robes familiar. He tried to recall if he had seen her on a news broadcast before, or if she just had one of those faces that made you think you knew someone. Var broke into their argument, bringing up his flight from the Stormtroopers as evidence for his self-reliance. She meant for it to help, but the only reaction it brought was one of pity.

Cassian could feel the emotions in the room ramping up, belatedly realizing that he probably wasn't helping the situation by wallowing in their feelings. More often than not, that just turned him into some sort of amplifier. The last thing he needed was for this meeting to turn into an all-out fight.

Slowly and deliberately, Cassian shut out the emotions filling the room, until all he could feel was his own persistent longing. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see a man who kept himself out of the arguments, his assessing gaze taking in every shift and fidget Cassian made. He imagined that this was what it felt like to know a sniper blaster was trained on you.

For all of his exclusion from the conversation, Cassian felt sure that this was the man who would decide if he would be allowed to stay. Who would decide if he could be useful. Cassian looked up and met his eyes.

He centered himself, thought about being calm and trustworthy, trying to direct his emotions toward the man. His eyes narrowed and he shifted, lifting one shoulder and then the other. He looked at Cassian, thin lips twisting into a half smile.

The woman in white spoke, her voice never rising but filled with an authority that made the others quiet almost immediately.

“Let's revisit this another day. For now, Mr. Andor is welcome to join the other students on base for lessons until an agreement that suits all parties can be reached.”

Just like that, Cassian’s future solidified. No longer just a pile of blankets in an abandoned building, rocks tossed at Stormtroopers until the day his luck failed. He could build something here. Something to give his father's death meaning.

They tested him in reading, mathematics, basic scientific principles, and language-learning aptitude. His excellent marks in languages and science put him in classes with students two and three years his senior. He was a little afraid his classmates would target him for his age, but the older students mostly left him alone. It almost didn’t matter; when he relaxed too much, he could feel their pity, and that was maybe worse than outright bullying.

Counterbalancing this were his terrible results in reading and math. Both skill sets had atrophied in Cassian’s years outside school, and that placed him in classes with younger students. In keeping with the wildness of children, they were the ones who made fun of his uneven education. He pulled his walls up as high as he could, hating the brash, raw scrape of their curiosity over his skin.

He promised himself that he would learn fast and graduate to more advanced levels soon.

And then he was given a choice of a ‘soft skills’ class. The Rebels seemed to think it was important that he both spent time with classmates his own age and that he learned something for it’s own sake.

Given the choice between ceramics and culinary arts, he picked the latter. It seemed at least somewhat useful. He had to interact with classmates during cooking sessions, but that was tolerable since the dominant emotion tended to be hunger.

* * *

 The base caretakers for Alliance children without a stable home were a Drall named Iraz and a tiny human called Rafine. They gave Cassian a bunk, three sets of clothes, new boots, and a datapad. He shared a room with two other boys near his age (sons of Intelligence officers who weren’t often on-base), but had his own bed, and there were three meals every day, with snacks available in between if he asked nicely. He started to grow again.

He asked around and found out that the caretakers had been looking after the children of others since before even the Clone Wars, loved their job, and had no plans to quit. When Cassian asked what the price of it all was, they became tender, sad, and told him the only things he had to do were learn and grow and help the smaller children.

It was confounding. He couldn’t feel anything but sincerity off of Iraz and Rafine, but it just wasn’t how the universe worked. People who gave you things wanted something in return, or got tired of it after a while, or left.

Or died.

He took the datapad - intended for school use and maybe a game or three for down time - and easily removed the holonet restrictions. Then he put them back, because the Rebellion techs looked over the school equipment regularly. He took them down only occasionally, when he was desperate for news of Fest or just wanted to look something up privately. After about a month he figured out how to set up a conditional reactivation so that the firewalls would automatically come back when anyone else used the ‘pad.

He wished his own walls worked as easily.

* * *

 Major Draven was a confusing man. From the very first meeting, Cassian had been waiting for someone to figure out his secret, certain, in fact, that Draven already had. It wasn't like on Fest, where the Force was regarded with disdain. Here, they regularly concluded classes saying, “May the Force be with you.” As if that was something desirable. As if half of their operatives weren't former Separatists.

Cassian didn't know where Draven stood on the Force, but he’d read some of Draven’s mission files, caught up in curiosity one sleepless night. He knew the sort of tactics that the Rebellion tolerated, knew the lengths that the Major would go to for the cause. If there was anyone that could figure out a use for Cassian's talent with emotions, it would be Draven.

The message on his ‘pad had been succinct. ‘ _Please report to Major Draven at 1500 hours today_.’ Cassian glanced at the chrono on the wall of the classroom, his leg rattling against the underside of his desk distractedly. 1450. He could make it across base in five minutes, but only if no one tried to talk to him. Then he would have to make excuses, fumble his way through explaining where he going without actually telling anyone. He wasn't sure why it would be a secret, but he wanted to keep this for himself, just for a little while.

Cassian glanced at the chrono again, sighed, then raised his hand.

“Yes, Cassian?”

He swallowed. “May I be excused early? I'm supposed to go to a meeting.”

Ms. Suvan frowned. “Oh. Well, I suppose there’s only a few minutes left for the day. Try to tell me at the beginning of class next time, alright?”

Cassian nodded, gathering his ‘pad and sliding out of his seat quickly. “Yes, of course. Sorry.”

Knocking on the door to Draven's office just as the chrono at his wrist ticked over to 1500 hours gave Cassian an odd sense of satisfaction. His heart was racing, from the quick pace he'd kept up across the base and from nerves. He had no idea what the Major wanted to meet with him about, though his mind had helpfully spun out increasingly awful scenarios since the message had first pinged onto his screen.

The door slid open, revealing Major Draven sitting at his desk. He looked up at Cassian and nodded, inclining his head toward a chair on the other side of his desk. Cassian sat, feeling sweat start to gather under his arms. He tugged at the collar of his shirt, then smoothed his palms down his thighs nervously.

Major Draven cleared his throat, thin lips tugging up into a smile that left before it had a chance to settle. His eyes were cool, observant. Cassian felt like he was shrinking underneath that gaze, becoming smaller and smaller until he was no longer a nuisance to anyone. He pinched his leg, trying to break out of the spiral of anxiety.

“So, Mr. Andor.” Draven cleared his throat, glancing down as his datapad dinged the arrival of a message. “You seem to have adjusted well. I’ve been checking on your progress over the past year. I’m impressed with how well you’ve caught up to the other children your age.”

Cassian tried not to scowl at that. He didn’t like being called a child, not after surviving on his own on Fest for so long. Some of the indignation must have shown on his face, Draven releasing a huffed laugh. “Alright. The reason I called you here is that I wanted to see what you thought you wanted to do, once you’re done with your schooling. Lieutenant Parat suggested you could help with intelligence gathering. Is that something you’re interested in pursuing?”

Cassian’s heart started beating faster. He wondered how much work it would take to pay off his debt. No one had ever told him what it cost to feed and clothe a growing boy, not to mention the hours of teaching they had invested in him. He glanced down at his hands, the callouses he’d built up on Fest slowly softening to what they were now. He steeled his shoulders, clenching his jaw.

“I’ll do whatever I need to...to repay you.”

Draven’s eyebrows drew together in confusion. “What? No, Andor. That’s not what I’m asking at all. We’re not saying that you have to do anything. I just thought...you wanted to help us, when you came here. And if you do, well, you should be trained for it.”

Cassian let out a breath. Draven looked genuinely shocked at Cassian’s suggestion, or else he was just a very good actor. In either case, Cassian wanted the chance to learn. He might not owe the Rebellion, but he wanted to make his father proud.

He met Draven’s eyes and nodded. “Yes. Whatever you can teach me, I’d like to learn. Sir.”

* * *

 The mission reports started to appear on his datapad at random points of the day. Cassian took to scrolling through them in the midst of lectures, sure that he could live without knowing the primary exports of Bespin or the literary devices in an important novel . At first, the notes he sent back were returned with thick lines of correction, Draven not appearing to care for sparing his feelings at any point. The cold data overrode any advantage he might have gained from his emotional connection to things, so Cassian threw himself into learning the intricacies of Imperial procedure. An organization was predictable, unlike the scattered tactics of the rebel opposers. He nearly crowed with delight at the first positive review, the smile plastered across his face earning him a puzzled look from Lae Morossa (the hesitant smile that followed sparking an entirely different sort of warmth in his chest).

His reward was an upgraded datapad, with security that took Cassian three days to hack through, and access to the files referencing ongoing missions. He absorbed everything he could from those, the spiderweb of connecting parts painting a frightening picture of the state of the galaxy.

And like all spiderwebs, this one was a trap. Cassian couldn’t tell if it was instinct or the Force that made everything suddenly seem clear, or if those were the same thing with different names. Regardless of the source, he needed to let Draven know before a lot of people died.

* * *

 He raced across the base, dodging around a group of pilots in their orange flight suits that were coming out of the mess hall. One of them caught his eye, winking as Cassian slowed down to take a corner. He almost dropped his ‘pad as a wave of nausea washed over him, a sudden rush of images pouring into his mind.

_An explosion. Fire raging in an abandoned building. Var falling, a blaster burn streaked across her back. The pilot, eyes vacant, orange uniform vibrant against a wash of green. ‘Troopers marching down the street. Screaming. Screaming._

He was screaming.

Someone shook him, hands tight around his arms. Cassian drew in a shuddering breath, pushing past the panic that was bubbling up around him.

“Kid, are you alright? We should take you to medical.” It was the pilot from before, the same one that he had just seen in his mind, only here he was still whole.

Cassian pulled out of the pilot’s grip, stumbling back to his feet. “No, estoy bien. I’m fine, I’ve got a meeting. Lo sien-sorry. I’m fine. I have to go.”

The pilot started to speak again, but Cassian was already gone. He was late for training, but if this vision was true,  that was the least of their worries.

* * *

 The look that Draven gave him came with a hint of warning. “What are you talking about, Andor? That mission is classified. How did you even - No. You know what? I don’t want to know how. Just. Go over the ambush again.”

Draven dragged his hands over his face and let out a deep breath. Cassian scrolled back to the beginning of the data file and started talking.

By the time he was done, Draven’s mouth had thinned to a fine line on his face. He sorted through a pile of datachips, referencing almost fifteen other reports before placing his hands firmly on his desk and staring at Cassian. He leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest and sighing.

“You want to tell me how you really figured this out? It come to you in some kind of dream? Or maybe you're some kriffing savant.”

Cassian swallowed, eyes darting around the room. He wanted so badly to believe that he could trust these people, but the words tasted like ash on his tongue. Would they even believe him? Or would things swing the other way, this strange connection with everyone turned into a weapon? Himself shaped into a tool, instead of the man he wanted to become.

Draven leaned forward in his chair, tapping his knuckles against the desk absently, then reaching out toward Cassian's hand, stopping just short of touching him. “On second thought, it doesn't matter. Any ideas that don't end with half our agents dead?”

Slowly, deliberately, Cassian let the barrier in his mind drop. He could almost taste how scared Draven was. It solidified the decision he'd already made, that Draven could be afraid of making the wrong choice still. He could only hope that Draven wouldn't lose sight of that over the years.

“Sir.” Cassian hesitated. “I...wouldn't call them dreams.”

Draven met his eyes. “Alright. What would you call them then?”

“I don't know. A warning maybe. A chance.”

“Well. I'll take any blasted chance we can get at this point.”

Cassian paused for a moment, glancing at his hands, then back up at Draven. “Sir. You probably ought to know the rest.”

To Draven’s credit, his face showed only mild curiosity. His emotions, however, spiked in a way that almost threw Cassian off course, his mind left unshielded for a moment too long.

“I can feel what other people are feeling,” he explained, voice low but controlled. “I can make them feel things, too.”

Then, Cassian dragged up every feeling of grief and sadness that he’d swallowed down over the years, the memory of standing in Tia’s kitchen and seeing his father’s face for the last time. He took all of that and pushed it at Draven, biting his own tongue to keep himself secured in reality.

Draven wavered for a second, then his face crumpled, hands turning white as he gripped the edge of his desk. Cassian cut the connection, pulling everything back inside himself and frantically tucking it away. Draven was shaking, staring at him with fear in his eyes. Cassian mentally prepared to be thrown out. At least this time he knew how to survive, had skills that he could use to keep himself fed and clothed.

“Fuck, Andor.”

Cassian swallowed. “If you want me to go, Sir...”

But Draven was shaking his head, reaching across the desk to stop Cassian from leaving. “Is that what it’s like in your head all the time?”

“Sir?”

Draven was silent for a moment. Cassian felt it stretch out into ages.

“I think I haven’t been giving you enough credit for your self-control,” the Major finally said.

Cassian leaned back in his chair, heart-rate slowly returning to normal. “So, I can stay then?”

Sighing, Draven mirrored Cassian’s posture. “Yes, Cassian. As long as you’d like.”

* * *

 The medbay was intentionally calm and quiet, only the steady rhythm of heart rate monitors and the flow of air through the cooling system to break up the silence. Cassian sat by Var’s bedside, watching her sleep peacefully. Besides the bacta patch covering the cut on her shoulder and some mottled bruises on her face, Var had escaped the mission relatively unscathed. Everyone had, to Cassian's unending relief.

He could still bring up images of another possibility, that same room overflowing with injured rebels and Var with a sheet pulled over her face. But that hadn't happened. He'd stopped what should have been a massacre, saved the lives of countless people who'd never know he was involved. It felt good, right in a way he hadn't since his father's face had flashed up on that screen when he was six and the loss had overwhelmed him.

He thought his father might have been proud of this Cassian.

Var stirred, fingers twitching toward her hip as she became aware of Cassian's presence. Cassian looked up, met her eyes so she would know she wasn't in danger.

She smiled, voice creaking as she spoke. “Hey, there's the hero of the day. Shouldn't you be in class? Or did they give you the day off?”

Cassian huffed out a laugh. “I'm hardly the hero, you're the one that took out Shocknaw.”

Shifting around on the medbay bed, Var smiled at Cassian knowingly. “Don't be so modest, my friend. Your intel saved many lives today. You'll have to teach me your secret methods, since no one else managed to catch the trap we were meant to fall into.”

Cassian could feel the exhaustion crawling through Var, absently noting the dose of pain medication that had clicked into her IV line. Var’s eyes drooped, the smile on her face relaxing as she drifted. He patted her hand and moved to stand up. “I'll let you rest now. We can talk secrets another time.”

As Cassian walked through the nearly empty medbay, he considered coming clean with Var. Major Draven hadn't pushed further than what Cassian had told him, hadn't asked how often he saw what might happen. And it felt good, knowing that he'd made a difference, had saved people's lives.

His stomach twisted, nerves overpowering the content feeling that had settled there. He'd tell her, just...not yet.

* * *

 Agent Galambee laughed as Cassian checked his blaster for the fifth time in the last ten minutes. “You’d think that thing was your dick for how often you put your hand on it, kid. Leave it be, ‘fore you go blind.”

Cassian schooled his features into a calm mask, fighting back the urge to retch. He hated that recently promoted General Draven thought he needed a minder on this mission, not when he’d spent so much time planning it. It should be easy; get in, make contact with an informant close to his age, one who knew how to blend into the scenery, pass along the codes for intel dead drops, get off planet before anyone knew they were there. Simple.

Nothing was ever simple though, not when he needed it to be.

Instead, the informant came attached with a minder of his own, one with Imperial credits in their pocket and a vibroblade strapped to their hip. If it hadn’t been for Galambee, a rough hand gripping the back of his vest and dragging him into the street, Cassian would have been dead. Left to bleed out in a cold dark alley. He wasn’t even sure if they’d send someone back for his body.

Cassian pushed himself back against the brick wall he’d been shoved into, copper bitter taste in his mouth. He wasn’t sure where the blood had come from, only that the taste of it was the only thing keeping him half-coherent at the moment. Galambee reached out and blasted a shot back toward the bar they’d run out of, his shout finally breaking through the low level hum buzzing out of Cassian’s brain.

“Take out that fucking blaster and shoot, kid, ‘less you want your first mission to be your last!”

Cassian lived through two moments at once, a flash of the future laid out over the present in ultra sharp detail. He pulled his blaster from the holster at his thigh, leaning away from the wall and firing once at the spot the enemy would be. He heard a scream, then dropped to his knees as his stomach tried to crawl up his throat and escape. Galambee waited a beat, then stepped out into the street before turning to Cassian with a grin.

“Nice shot. Now let’s get off this kriffing planet before someone else decides they want to kill us.”

Cassian staggered to his feet, scraping his palms against the brick.

Galambee smirked. “Don’t worry kid, everyone pukes their first time. Nothing to be embarrassed about there.” He punched Cassian in the shoulder lightly, a flood of adrenaline from him pouring over Cassian’s hastily recovered defenses. He tipped his mouth into a shaky smile.

When they walked back toward the ship, Cassian caught a glimpse of the body lying in the street, blaster shot burnt into his forehead. It was the informant, or the would-have-been at least, his face far too similar to Cassian’s own for any comfort. The Force had known one of them was going to die on that street.

* * *

  _"Rejoice for those around us who transform into the Force. Mourn them, do not. Miss them, do not. Attachment leads to jealousy, the shadow of greed, that is. Train yourself to let go of everything you fear to lose."_

* * *

 Finding K-2SO was not part of the plan. It was, in fact, completely against the plan and Draven was going to hand Cassian his head when they got back to base. At least that was what Nayva told him, kept telling him as he worked to bypass the droid’s programming. Since the hijack was unplanned, Cassian didn’t have a dataspike set up with the parameters he wanted to put in place. The best he could do was to shut off the Empire’s primary objective protocols and hope for the best.

It wasn’t entirely reckless; droids weren’t inherently evil, no matter what emblem had been painted on their shoulder.

Nayva looked over her shoulder, eyes darting between Cassian and the currently empty hallway. Her agitation was palpable even through his walls. Oddly enough, he was able to focus completely on the droid because of her distant emotions. Through them he’d have some warning if danger approached.

Finding the Imperial directives was one thing; he tried several different methods of bypass, but there were too many protections in place. As the seconds ticked by and his own tension began to increase he decided to simply delete them.

If it didn’t break the operating system immediately, it would definitely cause problems later.

The droid powered back on, the brightness of its optics increasing as the systems booted up. Cassian sat back on his heels, trying to ignore Nayva’s ramping anxiety.

“Andor!” she hissed, “We need to get out of here. Now!”

The droid looked at Cassian, then twisted its head toward Nayva. “You have seven minutes before the next patrol cycle. If you vacate this area within the next five minutes you will have a seventy-three percent chance of avoiding detection.”

Cassian grinned. “How much would our chances increase if you were to come with us?”

The droid’s head swivelled back toward Cassian. “Approximately thirteen percent, although I do not have enough data to calculate that exactly. You are a rebel. I can only assume what sort of weaponry training you have received.”

The droid shifted forward, then stopped, evaluating Nayva and the weapon she had trained on the droid. “If your partner fires her blaster, the guards will arrive much faster. I would not recommend that course of action. Also, now you have three minutes remaining.”

Nayva’s fingers tightened on the blaster. “Get back, Andor.”

Triumph melting away like snow over a fire, Cassian put himself in Nayva’s line of fire, hands placating. “He knows we’re rebels, and he hasn’t tried to hurt us! My reprogram worked!”

Mouth a tight line, Nayva hesitated. Then she lowered her blaster.

Cassian turned to face the droid. “Come with us.”

The droid tilted his head. “I do not feel compelled to follow your commands. This is highly irregular. I think you broke me.”

Cassian bit his lip. “Sorry if I deleted something important, but at least help us escape and then you can do what you want.”

“What I want,” the droid said, speculatively.

“We’re going, Private,” Nayva said, grabbing Cassian’s collar and dragging him out of the room. It was a relief to Cassian when the droid followed.

They made their way through the base, twice avoiding patrols thanks to the droid’s help. On approaching their ship, Cassian peered up (and up) at him.

“So? Will you join us?”

The droid’s optics blinked. “If I stay, the technicians can undo what you did.”

“Yeah, probably. Do you really want to go back to that, though?”

The droid’s head tilted. “Undecided. Why should I join a poorly-funded guerrilla movement with an under twenty-three percent chance of success against the Empire?”

“Does the Empire have stupid kids who try to shield you from their superiors?” Nayva asked, acerbic. Cassian winced and tried to reinforce his walls.

The KX considered the Rebels. Then he terrified both of them by snatching Cassian’s blaster away, pointing it towards Nayva, and taking out the Stormtrooper neither of them had noticed getting ready to shoot her.

“Are we leaving now, or do you wish to risk your lives some more?” the droid asked.

Astonished, pissed off, relieved, and just a little proud, Nayva nodded, and the three of them got on board. Cassian snatched his blaster back and strapped it into his shoulder holster.

“Don’t take my blaster again,” he told the droid. “Don’t take anyone else’s, either. It’s a good way to get scrapped.”

“Threatening me right after I saved your lives? How welcoming,” the droid said, vocabulator flat.

Cassian sighed in frustration. “I’m trying to be helpful. You’re a security droid with no programming limits on your actions. They’re going to take any excuse they can to change that.”

The droid didn’t speak for a moment.

Cassian ran a hand through his hair. “Look, we can drop you off somewhere.”

Nayva snorted. “After Andor erases your memories of the last few hours, right, Private?”

Cassian sighed again. “Yes.”

“You think they’ll accept me in my current state if I try to present myself as nonthreatening?” the droid asked.

“Yes,” Cassian said.

“Maybe,” Nayva said, skeptical.

“Hmm,” said the droid, and fell silent.

* * *

 “Let me review this to make sure I have it right.” Draven massaged his forehead with one hand. “You reprogrammed this Imperial security droid, didn’t install any safety protocols whatsoever, and invited it to join the Alliance.”

“Yes, sir,” Cassian said. “Kay-tooesso. He helped us escape and shot a Stormtrooper.”

“Yes, because you and Nayva were too busy talking about it to watch your own backs. I read her report.” Anger was radiating from Draven like heat, but Cassian detected interest and a hint of pride.

“But he did help us. And he still has Imperial protocols, codes, and other intel in his hard drive,” Cassian added.

Draven leveled his flat, evaluating stare at Cassian, then at K-2SO. Cassian did his best to keep his walls strong; Draven seemed to be able to tell when Cassian interfered with his feelings, intentional or not.

The droid, for his part, stood with a slouch and spoke only when spoken to. Cassian had suggested the latter, but wasn’t sure where the former had come from. Maybe Kaytoo was just exploring his options now that he had them.

“Fine,” Draven said at last. “I’ll have you enlisted on the condition that you debrief all relevant Imperial intel and never touch a blaster again. Agreed?”

It was impossible for Cassian to tell what Kaytoo thought of that. He had no facial expressions and no emotions that Cassian could perceive. He must have had them, or at least some equivalent to them - on the ship Kaytoo had sounded too disdainful and irritated for anything else to be true.

At that moment, though, he was quietly thoughtful, and when he spoke his voice was calm. “Agreed, General.”

“Good. All of you are dismissed,” Draven said, and left.

Nayva raised her eyebrows at both Cassian and Kaytoo. “Well, congrats, kid. Don’t fuck this up.”

Even with her worry like a cloud in the air, Cassian grinned. “We’ll be fine, right Kaytoo?”

Kaytoo’s optics glowed down at Cassian. “If you continue your observed behaviors I calculate your life expectancy at roughly twenty-five missions.”

Nayva snorted, shook her head, and left. It was the last time she ever worked with Cassian.

* * *

 Cassian hit the controls and the door snapped shut just as some Stormtroopers rounded the corner.

“Congratulations,” said Kaytoo. “Now we only have a thirty-one percent chance of dying.”

“Shh!” Cassian hissed. Kay fell silent, though Cassian had a feeling he was going to make up for that later, both in vocalization and insubordination.

They waited. Barring radio silence, Kaytoo always kept his scanners active on missions, or sliced into the Imperial droid network, or both. Today he was listening to all signal chatter in a two-mile radius.

After approximately three minutes, Kaytoo spoke quietly. “The corridor and surrounding area are clear. We should go now.”

Nodding, Cassian opened the door. They walked back to their ship briskly, but still with enough stiffness in both of their gaits to pass for Imperial.

As they rounded a corner, Cassian suppressed a flinch. An officer - Colonel, from the squares on his jacket - was walking towards them. He didn’t know why Kay han’t predicted his presence, but at least there was only one of him.

Cassian stopped and stood to attention as the man approached. He opened his walls a little, feeling the man out, and was alarmed to discover suspicion at the forefront. Maybe no one else was supposed to be here. Maybe there was something off about Cassian’s stolen uniform, or Kay’s posture.

Realizing that they’d been walking side-by-side instead of with Kaytoo two subservient steps behind, Cassian swallowed. What would be a plausible reason for that? What would the colonel expect? Maybe a software malfunction?

In less than three seconds, Cassian had decided to project subservience with an undercurrent of impatience and irritation. The kinds of emotions appropriate to a junior officer with a malfunctioning KX. In the corner of his eye, Cassian saw that Kay had thankfully straightened his posture.

“Lieutenant,” the Colonel said in a clipped voice, and Cassian prayed he’d been right. “What’s wrong with the droid?”

“Its movement subroutines are miscalibrated, sir,” Cassian said, staring straight ahead, immersing himself in the role. He couldn’t afford to project the wrong emotion, not now.

“Ah,” the Colonel said, suspicion fading into boredom. “Droid, report to the nearest maintenance bay.”

“Yes, sir,” Kay said, and to Cassian it sounded like an affected flatness barely covering his real cadence. Cassian projected more boredom at the Colonel.

No longer paying either of them any attention, the Imperial left. Cassian pulled his walls back up tight and finally let himself feel his relief. They started walking again.

Two corridors later, Cassian murmured, “What happened?”

“He wasn’t wearing an active commlink and he wasn’t on the schedule,” Kaytoo replied, irritation in his voice. “I suppose he must have turned it off right after finishing a shift. Rude.”

Cassian’s mouth curled at the corner. “Thanks for keeping everyone else away. It’s always tricky working multiple people at once.”

“It would seem that we have complementary skill sets,” Kaytoo observed.

Cassian fell silent. He’d never thought of his abilities as skills before.

As they boarded their ship and broke atmo, he grinned across the cockpit at his friend.

“Yeah, we do make a pretty good team.”

* * *

 Blaster fire rang in Cassian’s ears, but that wasn’t what was disorienting him. The market was crowded with too many Pathfinders and too many Stormtroopers and too many civilians, most of them angry or terrified or some combination of both, and even as strong as he’d made his walls over the years he couldn’t keep it all out.

Pell threw a grenade over the short wall he and Cassian were using for cover, and the shockwave wasn’t very strong but the terror-pain-void of several deaths was, and Cassian fell to his knees. He instinctively covered his ears, a pointless defensive posture he hadn’t tried in years. Pell shook him by the shoulder and disappeared around the corner while Cassian was still struggling to his feet.

A moment later, Pell was dead too. Cassian slumped against the wall and stayed there.

After a while the fighting moved to a different part of town. The soldiers were gone, but the civilians were still in the market square, salvaging their goods, tending to the wounded, gathering up the dead. They were still there with all their cacophony of grief, anger, despair, and still Cassian couldn’t get up.

Later - he wasn’t sure how much later - a shadow fell over him, and with it, a blessed emotional blankness.

“The battle is over,” Kaytoo said, bending down. “You should come back to the ship now. Can you walk?”

Relief stung Cassian’s eyes and clogged his throat. He nodded, letting Kaytoo help him to his feet, and then he kept as close to his droid friend as he could.

“What happened?” Kaytoo asked when they were back on the ship. Cassian was trying not to break down at the fact that nobody else had made it back. “You were not physically damaged, nor are you ill.”

“No,” Cassian said flatly. “I’m fine physically.”

Kaytoo tilted his head to look at Cassian. “Then it is a psychological problem?”

“Sort of,” Cassian said.

“Sort of,” Kay repeated, adding skeptical inflection. “How illuminating.”

Closing his eyes, Cassian leaned back in the chair, raw and exhausted. “I’m a Force-user. Mostly empathy. I got overwhelmed.”

There was silence as Kay absorbed this. Cassian still didn’t open his eyes even when he felt the jump to hyperspace. Before Kaytoo he wouldn’t have believed he’d ever be invested in a droid’s opinion of him, but Kay had changed a lot about his life.

“Was something different when I found you, or did you simply exert more effort?” Kay eventually asked.

Cassian cracked an eye open to look at his friend. “I don’t know why, but you sort of...drown out ambient feelings. Like a white noise generator. Sorry,” he said, wishing he’d had more energy to figure out a better way to say it.

Kay tilted his head again. “Don’t be,” he said. “I like the idea of nullifying organic emotion.”

Cassian stared for a moment, then burst into tired laughter. “Of course you do.”

Kay rolled his eyes. “You don’t have to laugh about it. Go eat and sleep,” he commanded, gesturing towards the ration storage compartments and the jump seats. “I’ll wake you when we leave hyperspace.”

“All right, Kay,” Cassian said, and for as much punishment as his heart had taken in the last few hours, he felt optimistic that he might actually get some rest.

* * *

  _“There is no emotion, there is peace._  
_There is no ignorance, there is knowledge._  
_There is no passion, there is serenity.”_

* * *

 Ixchel’s mouth was warm, endlessly soft as Cassian pressed closer. Her fingers wound into his hair, tipping his head to one side as the kiss deepened, their tongues meeting in unsure strokes. Cassian could feel her heart racing, his palm against her spine. His arousal buzzed low in his veins, like electricity under his skin, growing every time their lips broke apart and spiking as they crashed back together. Ixchel squirmed, pulling Cassian down on top of her with hitched breath. Her hands slid up his back, clutching at the material of his shirt until it pulled free of his pants.

Everything narrowed down in Cassian's mind, the soft give of skin under his fingers, the sharp edge of teeth catching at his lip, desire sending sparks along his fraying nerves.

There was a soft clang, metal striking metal, and then K-2’s voice came through the wall. “Cassian, your heart rate and temperature are increasing at an alarming rate. I believe you may require maintenance.”

Cassian groaned, pulling his mouth away from Ixchel. She laughed against his lips, pushing at his chest until he rolled off to one side. “He'll want to be in here with us next,” she teased, “to make sure I'm not breaking you or something.”

Frowning, Cassian sat up and ran his hands through his hair. “He means well. Just doesn’t understand the point of…” Cassian broke off, gesturing between them, “this.”

Ixchel straightened her shirt and stood, reaching over to tuck a piece of hair behind Cassian’s ear with a smile on her face. “Well, ‘this’ has reports to go over, so I guess he’ll get a reprieve from trying to parse human relations for the night.”

Cassian reached out for her hand as she walked past his knees, slotting their fingers together. “I’ll see you for breakfast maybe?” He tried to keep the earnestness out of his voice, still unsure of how fast or slow Ixchel seemed to want to take things from day to day. Maybe once Kaytoo had figured out human relationships, he could explain them to Cassian.

Meeting Ixchel had seemed innocuous at first. Pretty faces weren't uncommon amongst the rebels, though he mostly ignored them. She had laughed so easily though, lit up from the inside like she'd trapped a sun under her skin. It was addictive, and Cassian found reason after reason to put himself in her orbit, just to soak up some of that joy.

Cassian wasn’t oblivious to what he looked like, was aware that most humans found him attractive. He’d used that, on occasion, but only for intelligence work. Still he was surprised at how easily she agreed to a cup of caf, then dinner, then a holovid. Kissing on his bed, hands slipping under the edges of his shirt. Every moment with her seemed completely in sync, his own emotions echoing back at him.

In hindsight, that probably should have been enough of a warning.

* * *

Riding high off a successful mission, Cassian keyed the jump coordinates into the nav computer. K-2 surreptitiously watched over his shoulder, processors checking his math. He knew it was correct, but it seemed to satisfy Kay to come to the same conclusion, his head nodding confirmation before Cassian would push the lever forward.

Once they were well into hyperspace, Cassian stood from the pilot's seat and stretched. “Going to clean up in the ‘fresher. You alright up here?”

K-2 rolled his optics. “Oh, how will I ever manage sitting here doing nothing while you take care of your bodily functions?”

Cassian snorted, patting Kay on the shoulder before walking out of the cockpit, calling back over his shoulder, “We both know you'd miss me if I was gone!”

Down in the tiny quarters aboard the shuttle, Cassian stripped off his vest and shirt, tapping on the screen of his datapad to check for messages. Anything vital would have been routed to K-2, but once in awhile Var would send him a holo of something she found amusing.

There was a message, but it wasn’t from Var.

 _I don’t know how to say this,_ Ixchel wrote. _When we’re together, everything’s wonderful. You’re so kind and handsome and you always make me feel like the center of your universe._

Cassian’s stomach started to sink. Whatever she had to say was going to hurt.

_But, Cassian, I only feel that when we’re together. When we’re apart, it’s like my heart forgets. It’s not that I don’t care! I do. But I care about you as a comrade in arms, not as a lover. Right now, and every other time we’re apart, that’s how I feel._

The words carried a physical weight that hit Cassian hard. Distantly he felt himself standing perfectly still, knuckles turning white on the datapad.

_I’m sorry, I’m usually not this fickle. I don’t know why I am now._

Cassian couldn’t breathe, throat and chest constricted. The last few sentences appeared before him without making much impact, but he already knew what they were going to say.

_I’m sorry. I know it’s awful to do this in a message, but I have to do some soul-searching. I truly wish you nothing but the best and hope you can find someone who has feelings for you all the time._

Cassian flung the datapad away from himself. It hit the back wall of the sonic with a crunch and impacted the shower door as it rebounded. He didn’t bother to look to see how badly it was broken.

At times like these it had become second nature for Cassian to fold in on himself, compress his pain until it could shore up his walls to be nigh-impenetrable. The last thing anyone needed was to be caught up in the storm of his breakdowns.

But as he stood trembling and half-dressed in the ‘fresher, it occurred to him that there was no one for parsecs that he could touch with the Force.

It wasn’t terribly satisfying, as breakdowns went. Even knowing he couldn’t hurt anyone, it was hard to let go, and he found himself kicking the remains of the datapad out of the sonic, cleaning up, and getting dressed again before very long.

He went back to the cockpit and typed in new coordinates.

Kaytoo turned to look him over. There was no way he hadn’t heard. Cassian inhaled deeply.

“Injuries?” the droid asked, matter-of-fact but more softly than any other rebel would have believed.

“No,” Cassian said.

Some of the tension released from Kay’s broad shoulders. “I put in a requisition for a new datapad.”

Embarrassed, Cassian could still appreciate that Kay was making an effort to not speak directly about his episode. “Thanks, Kay.”

“Why are we going to Mygeeto?”

Cassian stiffened. Then he let out a breath. “Personal reasons.”

* * *

 The bar on Mygeeto was the sort of place people went to get lost. It suited Cassian just fine, though he could have done without the sticky puddle that he'd somehow laid his arm in. There were enough shifting emotions for him to float on, lust slipping over despair like passing friends. The glass of whatever he'd ordered helped too, the haze of alcohol curling around all his sharp edges until he half believed he wasn't completely devastated.

Another glass in and Cassian was able to smile at the man that slid into the seat next to him at the bar, a pair of wide dark eyes that seemed a touch too innocent for the seedy atmosphere. Cassian mirrored his movements, bodies angling toward each other as someone else pressed in behind to order a drink. Heart rate speeding up, Cassian smiled lazily, met with a faintly glazed over expression.

Cassian drew back like he'd been bit, Ixchel’s message running on repeat through his mind. Suddenly, the press of people was oppressive instead of soothing, false desire and guilt crawling up his throat. He pushed out the front door into a downpour, taking two blocks at a dead run until he fell back against the wall in an alley and opened his mouth to the rain.

The bitterness of pollution coated his tongue but Cassian gagged the water down regardless. All he could think about was how he'd kissed Ixchel, how he'd touched her, sure that her enthusiasm had been real. That she'd wanted him too. If she hadn't, what did that make him?

He'd been dying to sleep with her. Now he was glad they'd kept getting interrupted before he'd gotten the chance. At least she'd been spared that violation.

He tipped forward and retched, bile and rainwater washing down the street to swirl into a drain. That it hadn't happened didn't absolve Cassian of the crime. If Kay hadn't come in that last time, he would have done it.

If circumstances had been different, he might have done it many times.

He had the sudden urge to claw the skin off his arms, to mark himself somehow, so he'd remember what he was.

When Kay found him an hour later he was shaking from the cold, perfect crescent moon bruises pressed into the palms of his hands. For once, Kay didn't have a quip at the ready, only saying, “Come back to the shuttle, Cassian.”

Onboard and wrapped in most of the towels, Cassian regarded K-2 from a seat in the cargo bay, cracking open bloodshot eyes to peer at his partner. “How'd you find me anyway?”

Kay didn't bother to stop what he was doing, barely affording Cassian the quick glance that said he was listening. “I am always aware of your location.”

Cassian felt something warm within him, a tucked away part that told him Kay was more human than some organics he'd met. “I put a tracker on you.”

A hollow laugh spilled the tears that had been gathering at the corners of Cassian’s eyes down his face to get stranded in his beard. “You're a real pal, Kay.”

“It is part of my primary objective to ensure your survival. Allowing you to wander in the rain and make yourself sick would be counterproductive.”

Cassian sniffed and rubbed his dripping nose on the towel. “You know, I never programmed that into you.”

K-2 did stop then, turning and facing Cassian with his entire body. “I am aware. However, your wellbeing is tied to my own. I very much prefer to retain the free will that your ham-fisted jailbreak allowed me.”

Cassian had the urge to wrap his arms around Kay, but he thought better of it. “At least I know you aren't lying, since you're terrible at it.” Cassian let the tears run freely, grateful for the buffer of the ship and the pleasant buzz of nothing that K-2 put out. It worked better than the alcohol at rounding out the spikes in his emotions and he set to work building his walls back up to block out the rest. “I'm lucky to have a friend like you.”

“You are correct. Now, if we leave within the next hour we will not have to explain our delay to the General.”

Cassian hummed and closed his eyes before levering himself up out of the chair. “Right. Let's get off this rock already.”

“Agreed.”

* * *

In the weeks that followed, Cassian carefully removed himself from every non-professional relationship on base. How could he be sure that he hadn’t manipulated his friends into liking his company? Draven had commended him on self-control, once; now the thought just made him laugh. Clearly, he’d fooled everyone with that lie, including himself.

In the end, they were better off without him.


End file.
